How did the thief abscond with the ‘Mona Lisa’?
According to Charney, the thief, after working in the Louvre over the weekend, likely hid in a supply closet overnight, then snuck out the next morning. He made a beeline to the Salon Carré, where the “Mona Lisa” was being displayed, expertly removed it from the wall—and from its exceedingly heavy frame and protective glass—wrapped it in a sheet and hid it under his arm.
Security was so lax, Charney adds, that when the robber was confronted by a locked exit door, a plumber unlocked it for him, as workers were regularly being locked in the museum overnight accidentally. Peruggia easily disappeared into the Parisian morning with his treasure.
Later that day, the Louvre staff finally realized the painting had been stolen and contacted the Parisian police. Since the burglar had left minimal clues, detectives announced the news to the public. “It was an inexplicable mystery,” says Nicholas Day, author of The Mona Lisa Vanishes. “It drew a huge amount of attention. The investigators were under a lot of pressure. But they pursued a series of leads that didn't go anywhere.”
One early suspect officers focused on was none other than Picasso. At that point in his fledgling career, the 29-year-old artist was still a few years away from inventing Cubism and becoming one of the most influential artists of the 20th century.
Why was Pablo Picasso suspected of stealing the 'Mona Lisa'?
After settling in Paris in 1904, Picasso befriended a number of artists, painters and poets who all lived, worked and socialized in the building known as the Bateau-Lavoir, a creative hub in the Parisian neighborhood of Montmartre. Over the next few years, as Picasso’s star rose, he became particularly close with the poet and art critic Guillaume Apollinaire.
In 1907, Picasso told Apollinaire and his then-secretary Honoré-Joseph Géry-Pieret how much he adored three ancient Iberian sculptures then on exhibit at the Louvre, says Charney. Pieret later boasted that he stole the statues from a storage facility in the basement of the museum. “He said he tucked them all under his trench coat,” says Charney. “But they were quite large and heavy. There’s no way a single person could carry all three.”
Whether Pieret worked alone or not, two of the statues ended up in Picasso’s apartment, where he kept them in his wardrobe.
Once the "Mona Lisa" theft was announced, the public devoured newspapers and magazines for news. After a few weeks, when details dried up, some publications offered rewards to generate stories, says Charney. Pieret wrote to the Paris-Journal, admitting he had stolen from the Louvre for years and lamenting that security would now be tighter.
Police knew Pieret used to work for Apollinaire and that Picasso was his best friend. So, under pressure to show movement in the “Mona Lisa” case, they arrested and questioned the two men on suspicion of stealing the missing Leonardo painting. “They had an alibi and were quickly released,” explains Charney. “Picasso was terrified because he didn’t want to be expatriated to Spain.”
After being released, Picasso and Apollinaire planned to throw the Iberian statues into the River Seine, to destroy any evidence of the previous robberies. “But he loved them too much. He couldn’t do it. They hid them again,” says Charney. “Then Apollinaire, dressed in a very silly disguise, dropped the statues off at the Paris-Journal, and they were returned to the Louvre.”
Ultimately, the statues played a major part in Picasso’s career ascent. The rough-hewn heads filched from the museum directly inspired two of the faces in his 1907 painting Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, widely considered the first great masterpiece of modernist art.